


Into Peace

by Preble



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-07-06 03:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15877518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Preble/pseuds/Preble
Summary: War is all that she knows of her new life; without a past to build on, Robin has to cut her own path in the aftermath of the Plegian conflicts.





	1. Chapter 1

A huge bookshelf flew a banner of colors across a dark and quiet armory. Manuscripts of every hue poked their elaborate spines out at different heights and depths, each in its own language and bearing signs of heavy use. Some were charred at the edged, some had covered ripped clean off, and a particular black one sported what could only be a large bloodstain. A cloaked figure ran their hand along each row of books, searching more by feel than sight, and finally stopped at a massive olive-colored book, embossed with a forked spear with silver plates at the corners.

With a sigh, Robin hefted the Thoron tome from a strained bookcase and ducked through the heavy drapery of the armory. Outside the weather remained ignorant of their plight – the ground refracted hopeful rainbows, shimmering in the aftermath of storms. Camp was only decibels beyond silence. Footsteps padded carefully, unwilling to disrupt the vigil. Even the pegasi blinked balefully, somber, from their paddock.

Everybody mourned. Less than two days ago Emmeryn fell from the stone dais at castle Plegia. It was almost beautiful, a careful step from this world into the next.

The descent took an eternity. Chrom’s legs pumped furiously to meet her, and Lissa clawed desperately at the sides of her face, letting forth a sound that ran Robin’s blood cold. Echoes of it occasionally floated over camp, answered by a stormy-faced brother or a somber night.

Without Lissa’s usual pep, rank morale perished. Those close to Emmeryn leaned heavily upon those who weren’t, and Robin did her best to provide a shoulder for every member of the army. Some coped by throwing themselves headlong into work – Cordelia seemed everywhere at once, cleaning, mending, cooking and consoling simultaneously, wearing a brave face when watched and positively crumbling when alone. Others directed towards self-betterment, training from sunup to sundown for physical release, insurance against future casualties, or simple distraction.

Robin suspected that Lon’qu sought a combination of all three as she passed him en route to the far end of the training ground. He returned her wave with a curt nod, his form unbroken as he worked through parries. She lingered momentarily, only long enough to marvel at his immaculate technique but moving on before the gynophobia brought his work to a screeching halt.  
  
At the far end of the training grounds she cracked open the massive tome, breathing deeply of its comforting, dusty scent as she leafed through the pages. The archaic characters adorning the pages in immaculate script had come naturally to her as a second language, just as easily as the Ylissean standard tongue.  
  
The spell she was looking for dog-eared near the back of the book. If the earliest incantations came like a mother tongue, the later ones read like foreign language sharing only the occasional cognate. This spell in particular conjured a kind of ball lightning, a precursor to a full-blown Thoron. Potent but imprecise, this spell was difficult to control. In order to hold it together Robin needed to commit her full attention, hopefully granting her a few moments of respite from her emotionally taxing day.

With a deep breath she began. As she muttered the incantation, her casting hand began to hum with electricity. Barely visible, a flash of light collected past her outstretched fingers before cracking, dissipating to the ground and shocking her fingertips. Swearing, she clutched her aching fingers, hopping in place while Lon'qu peered quizzically over his shoulder.

“Everything alright?”

“Fine, thanks.”

After a curt nod Lon’qu resumed his training. Sighing, Robin examined her fingers wearily – the spell had been giving her grief on a good day, let alone when she was stressed and exhausted. Still, the swelling was minimal and she probably had a couple failed attempts left before real damage was done.

She needed control over the spell, immediately. Every precaution needed to be made to ensure nobody else would perish under her watch. With more authority she recited, and her sore casting hand was alive with static. Too quickly the electricity gathered in front of her, an orb of lightning crackling and sending frantic bolts into the air and the ground at her feet. Panic broke Robin’s concentration.

_I can’t take this onto the battlefield, what if it hits –_

With a crack the orb fractured. Spindly bolts shot at her feet, through her torso, and for one horrible moment her vision broke and she was no longer in the training ground. Instead she saw her own outcast arm, crackling with lightning over a prone Chrom. His body slumped unnaturally on a tiled floor, coursing with electricity while a vicious laugh roared in her ears.

_No… NO!_

The blow of her own knees crashing to the dirt jolted Robin back to her senses as she fell to all fours. Pain coursed through her body and magnified at her forehead, making her stomach roll while her inner ear struggled to right itself. Running steps barely registered above her own heaving cough as she struggled to control her lungs.

“Robin!”

Pebbles danced past her hands as Lon’qu came to a hard stop. He kneeled next to her, closer than Robin expected.

“Healer, now. Let’s go.”

Although he kept his voice even, Robin could see the strain in his expression as he stooped to help her up. Coughing and beginning to tremble, she shook her head, unable to find the words to thank him but insist that she’d make it back to camp just fine. He grunted and set his jaw, looping her arm over his shoulder and hoisting her up.

There was no room for negotiation in Lon’qu’s voice. “Don’t be difficult. We’re going.”

Robin risked a sidelong glance at her rescuer as she was dragged along. On the battlefield, Lon’qu was efficient and helpful in medical transport if he needed to be. Without the helpful adrenaline to drown his phobias, however, his complexion paled and his brow slicked with sweat.

“Lon’qu, don’t worry...” she huffed, winded. “Don’t bother. We’re at camp, I can manage.”

Distress colored his voice “I think not. I just need to remember where –”

“Lon’qu? Robin! What happened?”

Looking up, Robin saw a familiar flutter of white cape rounding a corner of tents nearby. The dread that pooled in her stomach was matched only by the wave of relief that overcame Lon’qu as Chrom pounded over to them.

“A training mishap, I think. She’s headed to a healer, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“Say no more. I’ve got it from here, thank you for looking out for her, Lon’qu,” Chrom replied, gratitude evident in his voice. Lon’qu maintained his composure long enough to pass Robin off to Chrom before turning heel and hastening back to training ground. She tried to call a thanks after him, but her voice refused to carry and he was long gone. Instead, she addressed Chrom with as much authority as she could while her body quaked and her breath came short.

“I’m going to my bunk for a concoction, no need for a healer.”

He could only sigh, tightening his hold around her waist as though to cease her shaking. “I don’t think so. How did this happen?”

“Thoron training. Nothing major, please don’t bother the healers,” she said flatly, trying to end the discussion. A clear shade of upset clouded his features, and regret tore at her aching chest. “Please, Chrom – Lissa is still out of commission, and Maribelle comforting her. Libra has his hands full running the infirmary by himself, the last thing he needs is another person to look after. I just need a vulnerary and some rest.”

Concern for his sister warred with worry over Robin. After a minute of indecision Chrom exhaled deeply, submitting with a tired “okay”, setting off for the bunks with Robin tucked at his side. Their progress was slow towards the far end of the bunks, their steps thunderous through the unusually quiet camp. Most of the Shepherds were in the mess hall for dinner, in the infirmary with Libra, or keeping to themselves.

The two remained silent as they arrived at Robin’s tent, ducking under the flap as he sat her down in the cot. She watched him carefully as he rummaged at the bottles on her desk, turning each one to read its label until he found a blue flask at the back. Uncorking it with a pop, he handed the jug over and turned her desk chair so that it faced Robin and sat, leaning on his knees. Robin muttered a thanks and swigged the concoction, her nose wrinkling as it burned down her throat and seared her sinuses. Bending for the waterskin she kept at her bedside, she found it missing; Chrom had beaten her to it, handing it over with the barest hint of a grin.

She accepted the canteen with a wry smile. “You know me too well.”

“Too right. Although,” Chrom mused, watching her thoughtfully, “this is the first time in weeks I’ve gotten to pay you a visit. I feel like I never see you outside of meetings or battles these days. Has everything been alright?”

Robin chewed guiltily on her inner cheek. It was by no coincidence that she’d made herself scarce lately. At first she had been trying to exercise some independence. Having been plucked from the field like an amnesiac daisy, it was only natural to imprint on the first faces she saw, like an infant to parental figures. Eventually, she reasoned, one had to leave the comfort of the nest and strike out on their own into a wide world of companions and discomfort and variety! Besides, with their constant companionship, rumors were beginning to circulate.

What was worse – the rumors were accurate. After the bathing tent incidents, after countless hours of company and fighting, marching and shoulder-punching, joking and occasional tears, Robin could no longer deny that she’d grown dangerously fond of the young prince. How clichéd, and how inappropriate of a tactician in his service.  
  
And so, instead of weaning herself from his constant company little by little, she’d cut herself off cold turkey. No more poring over battle histories settled in the corner of his bunk, no more attachment at the hip in battle, no more seat reservations together in the mess hall. Free time was thereon devoted to the army as a whole, getting to know each member as well as she knew Chrom and Lissa.

But the battle of castle Plegia rewrote all of her plans. Now more than ever Chrom needed support and Robin gave it willingly and with the bravest face she could muster. The front she put up was cracking; the shallow imitation of selflessness, the good intentions, and the brazen independence – each of these chipped from her face and she felt emotion, stinging like bile, rise in her throat and contort her mouth. She chewed at control for a minute, swallowing the lump in her throat for a moment before risking a reassuring nod to Chrom. “Everything’s f-fine, I’ll be okay. Thanks for checking up on me.”  
  
But that look, his face too close, concern too deeply drawn into the planes of his mouth, eyes soft and boring beneath her mock stability. Her resolve stretched thin.  
  
“Are you sure? I’ve seen you running around camp since the battle. Checking up on everyone individually, and now this training accident – you’re working yourself dead, Robin. Has anyone come to check up on you since Emm –” His voice tightened and he had to swallow before continuing. “Since it happened?”  
  
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She couldn’t keep this up for much longer, she needed him out, _now._ “I’m fine. Really, go get some rest, I’ll meet up with you later.”  
  
“No.” He shook his head, urgent. “You’re not fine, and I’m not leaving until you are. Please, Robin, _talk_ to me. I need to know that you’re going to pull through this.”  
  
“That _I_ am going to pull through? _I_ am the one who… the one responsible for the death of the Exalt. The leader of a free nation. My best friends’ sister.” Robin stammered, hysteria seeping into the final words.  
  
“Robin, don’t say that –”  
  
“ _No_ ,” she choked. “I was cocky. Bold. Not _one_ of the Shepherds had fallen, and I planned so thoroughly that there was no way for us to fail. Virion and I stayed up for days, examining every possible loophole and outcome. Frederick trained the army to the farthest extent of their abilities. All of our strongest units were armed to the tooth with the finest weapons Gaius’ lockpicking could afford. Maribelle and Lissa were on standby. Everything was ready.”  
  
“And _still_ ,” Robin continued, dripping with scorn. “I failed. And who’s to say that I won’t fail again? What if it’s Miriel next time, or Vaike, Stahl, Cherche…”  
  
She buried her face in her hands, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Behind her closed eyes burned the image of Chrom slumped on an ornately tiled floor, electricity coursing through his body.  
  
“Or you.”  
  
Her composure was wholly lost. Sobs that she’d previously buried into her bedsheets or aired beyond earshot of camp came in a torrent, making the blood rush in her head and her face hot with misery. The cot creaked as Chrom sat beside her, arms encircling her quaking shoulders and she guilty submitted to his embrace, crying harder for shame and for indulgence. Messy tears stained his shirt as she failed to compose herself while Chrom rubbed soothing circles at her back.  
  
An inestimable amount of time passed. They sat unmoving and soundless save for Robin’s quieting whimpers, much as they had the night before when she held a grieving Chrom. Robin had found him much as she found herself – mourning a broken future, one he felt incapable of ruling without Emmeryn. He, too, claimed full responsibility for her death, for her unclaimed body, for the countrymen whose peace and safety were at risk due to war. He wept for the impossible decision between his family and his country, and for his own weakness, and for the little sister that had finally sobbed herself to sleep not long before. At the time, Robin swallowed her own grief and played the role seamlessly: she supported, soothed, and sympathized well into the night. It wasn’t until early morning, when she finally slunk to her own bunk, that she let the heartache and guilt catch up.  
  
Eventually Robin’s breathing steadied, the tears dried and she mopped at her face with the back of a sleeve. Good sense implored her to dislodge from Chrom’s hold, but her will failed under his gentle touch. Regretfully, she wound her arms around his waist and buried her face at his collar bone.  
  
Robin felt the breath catch in his chest. Dimly wondering if she’d crossed a line of propriety, she was spared from panic when Chrom released the breath he was holding and rested his head against hers, absentmindedly smoothing a hand through her tangle of hair.  
  
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think that will happen.” He soothed into her tresses, quiet and confident.  
  
“Rnd mht mfhks mno mhay nhap?” Robin muffled through his collar. Consonance gone, the helplessness came through loud and clear. Chrom snorted and drew back to see her properly.  
  
“… Excuse me?”   
  
“I said,” she mumbled thickly, “What makes you say that? After all that’s happened… I can’t be sure I won’t make more mistakes. Why should you trust me?”  
  
Chrom sat back on his hands, thoughtful. “Because… it’s you. You’re one of my strongest fighters, and you’ve been seen us through this whole blasted mess of a war. One you didn’t sign up for, I might add. Time and time again you’ve risked your life, protecting the Shepherds, my friends, my family, and myself – all whom you’ve met just months ago. And in that short time you’ve become one of my closest allies, my best friend.”  
  
He swallowed and continued, almost fervently. “Robin, I trust you like the sword at my side. I wouldn’t be able to finish this war without you.”  
  
The air felt clearer to Robin then. She could breathe easily, and a weight like a black hole evaporated from her shoulders. Despite that, she found her eyes welling with fast hot tears beyond her control.  
  
“You know… my intent was to make you feel better, not more miserable,” Chrom crooned, the barest hint of a smirk playing his lips. Robin hiccupped a giggle, shaking her head.  
  
“I do, really. Or, at least, I will, so please don’t worry yourself anymore.”  
  
“Only if you promise that I won’t find you in a pile of diagrams and spent candle marks in the morning. You already sacrificed a decent night’s sleep yesterday, and a lady needs her rest after all.”  
  
 She gave him a wet smile. “Promise.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
A flicker of indecision crossed Chrom’s features. With a careful hand he thumbed away a tear at her cheek, looking so far into Robin that she’d swear her heart stopped. Locked as though petrified, she could only gaze, wide-eyed, as he leaned in to faintly brush a kiss at her forehead.  
  
By the time she’d regained control of her pulse the flap of her tent had swung closed with a gust and a flutter of an ivory cape. Though her cheeks flamed, Robin vowed that the gesture was meant as brotherly comfort, nothing more. She repeated that mantra to herself between drills of the attack formation until her stretched mind finally slackened and submitted to sleep.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I know the market is saturated and last thing the internet needs is Yet Another Chrobin Story, but... here we are. More to come!


	2. Chapter 2

The air itself was their first opponent. Allied with the sun, it sucked all of the moisture from the atmosphere, desiccated panting mouths and blew irritating sand into eyes and teeth. Scrabbly desert brush barely held the terrain together, offering just enough purchase for horse and rider to maintain footing in the arid waste. Flying units circled like vultures overhead, riding the heat higher and higher.  
  
The newest recruits found themselves near the front of the formation. Libra took preventative measures by drawing enemy fire and rendering healing unnecessary. The Plegian sorceress skirted the dunes like a viper, hurling quick and erratic curses from her position unnervingly close to Robin. From her own station at the eastern side of the front wave, it was all she could do to keep pace with Chrom and Frederick, the latter spurring his horse mercilessly to keep up with the former.  
  
Chrom pushed ahead with a thoughtless abandon that was entirely unlike him. Though prone to bouts of recklessness when leading a point, Chrom typically fought with intent and a lifetime of practice under his belt. Now his eyes were flashed dangerously as he ran, full tilt, into peril.  Frustration and panic gripped Robin as she struggled to catch up, unable to do more than watch helplessly while he engaged three soldiers while Frederick was fallen upon by a wyvern knight. A fourth soldier was closing in on Chrom from his left, a mage bellowing the beginnings of a fire spell. Attention fully spent on Chrom, the magician failed to notice Robin until she had buried four inches of steel in his neck. She removed the sword with a jerk, pausing just long enough to gauge by a final, sticky breath that the job was finished.  
  
Close by, a felled wyvern signaled Frederick’s success as he wheeled his steed towards a remaining soldier – a hulking mercenary who lunged with dangerous speed. Robin had barely turned to join them when a familiar jeer sounded nearby.  
  
“Come, princeling! I’ve sharpened my sword just for you!”  
  
The hairs on the back of Robin’s neck stood on end just as the air cracked with lightning. Mad King Gangrel held a Levin sword aloft, a toothy leer betrayed by a feral glint in his eyes. Though Chrom’s lips formed a retort, the ringing in Robin’s ears drowned it out and she could only speculate the words employed to express the murderous look on his face. Horrified, she could only watch as he tore after the king like a man possessed.  
  
Gangrel cackled as he provoked the prince, strafing while hurling erratic bolts that singed Chrom’s hair and missed his torso by millimeters. Chrom pivoted hard and struck out fast enough to catch Gangrel in the upper arm. The smile hardened and his eyes narrowed as blood dripped down Gangrel’s sword arm.  
  
“Ah ah ah, careful lad – another stunt like that and I won’t permit you an easy death like your sweet sister,” he tutted, lunging to return the blow. Though the blade missed narrowly, lightning arced from its tip to connect with Falchion and send electricity up Chrom’s arm. He barely maintained a grip on the sword, a snarl slipping between his gnashed teeth. Robin’s stomach turned as she caught the beginnings of a fractal burn developing on his arm.  
  
With frantic fingers Robin thumbed through her tome. When she arrived to the dog-eared page a deliberate and artificial calm quieted her nerves, steadying her casting hand as she roared the incantation. The air, still alight with static from the Levin sword, sang with the cackle of Robin’s spell as she lobbed a ball of lightning towards the king. A wholly inappropriate grin broke her face when it connected, momentarily bringing him to one knee and finally wiping the manic sneer from his face.  
  
Momentary relief abated as Gangrel turned to face her, staggering to his feet and raising his sword with jarring speed. Robin barely had time to raise her weapon before he was upon her, the clanging of their blades nearly drowning out his breathless hiss – “I’ve no time for little maggots.”  
  
Before her legs could buckle beneath his full weight upon their swords, a knee to her gut sent Robin sprawling backwards into the dust. She scrabbled for her sword, gasping for air and choking on dirt while Gangrel loomed over her, blade aloft and sparking faintly. Just as the finishing blow leveled towards her belly, an odd expression crossed his face – an even mix of hate and humor making way for shock as a flash of steel buried itself in his side.  
  
Clutching his abdomen, Gangrel wheeled around just in time to see Falchion embed itself in his chest. As Chrom drove inch after slow inch of the blade, he seethed a parting farewell to the Mad King.  
  
“For Ylisse. For Emmeryn. And for myself.”  
  
And as the color drained from his face into Falchion’s hilt, Gangrel saw fit to spend the last of his energy on a whispered taunt.  
  
“F-fool of… a prince… Your revenge is self-indulgent… your people care not for you. You are… alone… As every man lives and dies… alone.”  
  
The ghost of a chuckle remained on Gangrel’s face as Chrom yanked the blade out of his torso. Pausing just long enough to wipe off the worst of the blood from the blade, Chrom pounded to Robin’s side to inspect the damage.  
  
“Are you alright? Can you stand?”  
  
Robin nodded nervously. The frenzied wrath that fueled Chrom hadn’t entirely abated, and the look in his eyes chilled her blood and halted her breath.  
  
Or, perhaps it was a cracked rib, she amended grimly when Chrom hauled her to a standing position. A wheezing cough worked her core like an old accordion, searing her chest and making it hard to breathe. The last of the murderous expression dovetailed into worry. Fretting eyes darted about her form for the source of the pain and settling on the tear in her blouse at the midriff through which bloomed the beginnings of a spectacular bruise.  
  
Chrom raised a thoughtless hand as though to caress it, that the bruising would heal under his touch.  
  
“Robin…” he exhaled, deflating like a balloon. “I thought he had you for a minute there.”  
  
“I thought so, too. If he hadn’t been playing dirty with those damned greaves there’d have been no contest,” Robin protested wryly. “Thanks for the save.”  
  
She caught his wandering hand, gingerly turning it over to inspect the fractal burns that crawled up his forearm. Even the fabric of his glove bore scorch marks, the buttons serving as particularly effective conductors and leaving circular burns beneath. When she glanced up from his arm to inquire about the pain the question faltered under his stare – one so openly tender and relieved that she could only meet his gaze for a sheepish moment before a horse’s canter broke her concentration.  
  
“Milord!”  
  
The thunderous hoofbeats of a warhorse announced Frederick’s arrival. Robin dropped Chrom’s hand with a start, pivoting around a hair too quickly and swearing under her breath when her abdomen burned in protest.  
  
“I apologize, milord, Gangrel shouldn’t have been allowed within 100 yards of you, and now you’ve sustained injury for my ignorance –”  
  
A tired hand halted the tirade. “Peace, Frederick. How does the army fare?”  
  
“Only the third wave is still engaged with enemy reinforcements, all others are falling back to support or bringing others to healers. What are your orders?”  
  
“A ceasefire. Plegian soldiers will lay down their weapons or be taken in by force, and Ylissean captains are to report to me for further instructions. All others are to assist with medical transport and regroup at camp.” Exhausted and battered as he was, a fire relit in Chrom’s expression. Almost smiling, seeming a little taller, he now addressed Frederick, Robin, and anyone else who cared to listen.  
  
“And tell everyone… we’re finally headed home.”

* * *

  
Summer was yielding to autumn across the countryside. The foliage upon distant mountaintops was alight with color and the trees lining the cobbled main road shuddered in anticipation, relishing in the cold winds bringing the change. As the march passed agricultural towns farmers could be seen bustling about the land, harvesting in a frenzy before the first frost rolled in. Strong sense of purpose was required to pass these towns in particular, whose promise of warm beds and rustic feasts dragged ankles and weighed hearts as they passed by.  
  
Even the steeds slogged, one horse lingering at every crabapple tree along the road to munch at the fallen fruit. Its rider giggled, gently trying to spur onward.  
  
“Have some discretion, Hermes – these are halfway to vinegar by now.”  
  
“Save it for the homecoming, you great brute,” Stahl admonished from the carriage nearby. With profound regret Hermes picked up the pace, jostling Robin in the saddle, who yelped and clamped her knees to avoid sliding off. A novice horseman, Robin sought lessons from anyone who was willing to spare their steed in an effort to kill time during the march back to Ylisse. Sully wasn’t an option – her horse was pure evil. Frederick’s charger “did not suffer inexperience lightly”, and Maribelle politely declined, insisting that her purebred mare demanded the touch of one experienced in highly specialized equestrian training. Or something. Stahl readily volunteered, both because he and his stallion had the perfect temperament for teaching and because he was more than happy to coach her progress from the comfort the caravan.  
   
“Your form is already improving! Wish I had that kind of knack for it when I was training,” he commended a little wistfully as Robin pulled up to the carriage. “How’re you holding up?”  
  
“Hermes and I are fast friends,” Robin assessed, patting the length of the horse’s neck fondly. “But my legs feel like pudding, and my abs are killing me. To think that all this time I thought the cavalry were getting off easy.”  
  
Stahl laughed a little darkly, shaking his head. “I had the same thought when I was enlisting. Figured I’d take the easy way out by avoiding the heavily armored unit, but we all pay our dues one way or another. You’ll build stamina with time, I promise.”  
  
She grinned. “I hope so. Mind if I borrow Hermes a little longer? I want to catch some of this sunset before my limp physique gives out entirely and I have to crawl back into the caravan like a soft noble.”  
  
“ _I heard that!_ ” called an indignant voice from the carriage. “We’re _not_ soft!”  
  
“Of course not, Lissa. I would never _dream_ of insinuating that you’re delicate - neither you nor your blue-blooded brother.  
  
“Hey, leave me out of it. It’s just that horses and I don’t… get along,” droned Chrome’s baritone.  
  
Stahl barked a laugh. “Shall I refer her to the fleet of horses that threw you as a lad?”  
  
Robin snickered as she turned her mount away from the cart while Stahl, Lissa and Chrom laughed and bickered. Around her colleagues were engrossed in easy conversation or marching along in comfortable silence, and she let the lull of quiet chatter pacify her thoughts. She trusted Hermes to follow the cavalcade and watched the low layer of clouds flush along the western horizon, breathing deeply of the cooling air and relishing in the goosebumps raising on her arms. The chill was a welcome change from the punishing heat of the Plegian desert.  
  
She rode along in contented solitude until Frederick’s booming voice announced from the head of the march that the procession would continue into the night – the capital was only a couple hours away, and the decision was made to press on instead of breaking camp so close to their destination. As torches were distributed Robin admitted defeat and nudged her way back to the carriage, finally succumbing to cold, weariness and an unease riding in darkness. Stahl met her at the wagon’s door with a smile and praise, commending her first ride as with clapped a hand on her shoulder.  
  
Chrom looked up with a chuckle as Robin clumsily made her way back into the cabin, bumping into the doorframe when her tired legs wobbled beneath her.  
  
“Welcome back,” he murmured. “I’m sorry to report that Lissa got entirely too comfortable while you were gone…”  
  
And so she had, gangly limbs akimbo and sprawled across two-and-a-half of the four seats available. Robin stifled a laugh as the young princess snorted in her sleep, pigtails askew and drooling slightly.  
  
“Poor Stahl was taking the brunt of it, she passed out right into his lap,” Chrom lamented, shaking his head. Robin peered at him quizzically, a knowing smile creeping across her face.  
  
“You can’t possibly think that was _accidental_ , could you?” She drawled, setting a hard scowl into Chrom’s jaw. “I jest, relax – probably an innocent coincidence. I’d hate to wake her, poor thing’s probably exhausted. I’ll just hop out and walk with the procession.”  
  
“No! I mean, no, it’s fine – she sleeps like the dead, see?” he explained, giving the sleeping figure an experimental prod. Lissa emitted an indelicate snort and shifted slightly, sleeping on. “We’ll make do.”  
  
As gently as he could, Chrom edged Lissa’s legs off of the bench so that he could slide over enough to accommodate Robin’s petite frame. Steeling herself, Robin gingerly crammed herself between the wall of the caravan and Chrom’s right side. He gave a start as she sat down, recoiling as she brushed against his arm.  
  
“Jeez, if you want the space so badly just say so,” Robin mumbled, stricken.  
  
“No, no, no, it’s not that! It’s just, _gods,_ you’re so cold!” he whined, backpedaling. She narrowed her eyes and grinned wickedly as she rolled up her sleeves.  
  
“You think _that’s_ cold?” she challenged as she pressed her icy hands into the bare upper arm of the prince, who yelped like a kicked dog. He snatched up her hands in his own to halt any further torment, stopping Robin in her tracks.  
  
“ _Cripes_ , Robin! I’ll be damned if I let you drop dead of pneumonia after all the trouble we went through to survive the war,” he scolded. With quick fingers he removed his gloves and slid them onto her hands before setting about removing his cape. Robin watched, wide-eyed, as he draped his cape about her like a quilt. “There,” he assessed, satisfied. “That should help. But seriously, not worth freezing to death for an extra hour of equestrian training.”  
  
“Yes, you’re right… I’m sorry.” She muttered, feeling like a child being punished.  
  
Curiously she worked her hands in the gloves, marveling at the fine leather and intricate stitching. They were so warm, even if they were far too large, and the cape had a luxurious weight that soothed her cold muscles like a balm. The heat within the cabin and the rumbling of the wheels beneath her seeped into her bones and left Robin irresistibly drowsy. She yawned widely, closing her eyes.  
  
_Just a tiny nap won’t hurt…_  
  
“Robin?”  
  
“Mmmm?”  
  
“I probably should have asked this long ago, but… what will you do now that the war’s over?”  
  
Robin blinked groggily, casting him a sideways glance. His expression was carefully neutral, as though carved from wood.  
  
“Probably replant myself in the field I was found in. You know, live out my golden years as a shrub,” Robin mused with a tired smile, giggling when Chrom rolled his eyes and gave her a well-deserved elbow to the ribs.  
  
Truth be told, Robin had given it plenty of thought. Often in the mess hall her colleagues would tuck into their turnip stew and game meat, wistfully recalling favorite recipes or suitors they’d return to after the war. Each would regale the rest with grand feast they’d planned, a shopping spree at the local bazaar with their profits, a favorite game they’d play with younger siblings. Inevitably, someone would cough politely and change the subject if Robin was within earshot, deeming it insensitive to flaunt their luxurious pasts in front of her. A few of her closest friends had already pulled her aside, assured her that she would have a place to stay – Cordelia excitedly planned their chic bachelorette apartment in the knights’ wing, Libra kindly offered sanctuary within the church, and even Panne proposed adding an extension to her burrow in the countryside.  
  
Touched deeply by every offer, she would thank them and promise to think on it. Knowing that she’d have company and a roof over her head helped her sleep at night, to be sure. At the same time, it felt intrusive to barge her way into their home lives. Besides, she’d make more than enough money in soldiers’ wages to afford a cottage in the boonies, or a dinky studio in a city.   
  
“I’ll have my options,” Robin announced with passable authority.  
  
“I figured as much. But, you know…” he paused, mussing his hair agitatedly. “You’ll always have a home in Ylisse, should you choose.”  
  
“I may stick around the capital. Rent a ramshackle flat downtown, get a cat – you know, like a city socialite,” she agreed, grinning.  
  
“No, I mean the castle.”  
  
Robin barked a laugh. “In the _castle? Heavens,_ Chrom, only royalty and elite live within the castle.”  
  
“I could knight you, or grant you a baroness title, or something. You _are_ my chief tactician, after all.”  
  
She could only gawk, disbelieving of his blatant honesty. “Be serious, Chrom. Imagine the uproar, a foreign amnesiac punted into the upper class. Me, up to my eyes in frills and petticoats and rouge – I hardly qualify as _female_ , remember?”  
  
Chrom could only cackle at that, remembering his earlier misstep in accusing her of being unfeminine. An unchecked tint colored his brow, not unnoticed by Robin, who smirked haughtily. Her girlishness was irrefutably reclaimed in the bathing tent incident and she took no small delight in his embarrassment.  
  
“Fair enough. But, if you need some time lavishly furnishing a house, finding that cat, you can always stay in the guest wings. No title required.”  
  
“That… that’s really sweet, Chrom,” Robin said with some difficulty. _Wonderful, but probably ruinous._ “But you know, I –”  
  
The bustle of the procession had picked up a few decibels, and excited chatter interrupted Robin’s train of thought. Soon Frederick’s voice muscled above the rabble, commanding everyone to maintain their positions and stay with the group. It couldn’t possibly be an attack, but Robin’s nerves wound reflexively and she rose to peer through the carriage window. It wasn’t enemies but excitement that broke the ranks; from their current position at the crest of a hill she saw the outskirts of a massive city. Though at least an hour away yet, the sprawl of the suburbs stretched far into the valley and cast a glow that cut the deepening night.  
  
If her first glimpse of the capital was awe-inspiring and exciting, her second couldn’t have been more different. What once seemed grand and limitless now seemed unforgiving and menacingly without the benefit of a family, a past or a future. She jumped at a sudden movement when Chrom joined her at the window, and she stepped aside to grant better access. His expression was hard to decipher as he took in the expanse of Ylisstol – he was relieved, to be sure, but something else as well. Apprehensive? Fearful?  
  
Any negativity was wiped from his face as he turned from the window and knelt by Lissa’s sprawling form. Speaking softly, he gave her shoulder a gentle shake.  
  
“Hey, Lissa.”  
  
“Mmmrrm?”  
  
_Here it comes, that four-letter word_. Robin braced herself as a hard pit of dread settled in her belly.  
  
“We’re home.”


	3. Chapter 3

An eerie stillness blanketed Robin almost as heavily as the luxurious downy quilt of her guest suite bed. After the bustle of camp, abrupt calls to order, and the odd assassination attempt during the war, the silence of a well-secured castle in the early morning was deafening. No whinnies of horses, no metallic clang of training soldiers, no rabble in the mess hall – just her own magnified breathing contending with an imposing grandfather clock at the entryway.   
  
The shocking atmosphere and schedule changes were proving to be a difficult adjustment, particularly the bed – the bed! Robin never thought she’d see the day where she longed for the stiff and scratchy bunks of yore, but after an hour of turning and pillow-mashing she’d just about had enough of the satin duvet and the mattress that went on forever. Submitting to her internal clock, she rose with the sun and readied for her day.   
  
She smiled and nodded to the night guards as she crept through the quiet castle. Most returned a professional nod, but some that she’d gotten to know better waved sleepily and called greetings to her. The bizarre quiet finally gave way to a real bustle of activity farther from the sleeping quarters. A great deal of clanking and rabble could be heard as she passed the kitchens, outside the central building a familiar toll of steel could be heard across the distant training grounds. Though her heart longed for Frederick’s brutal morning wake-up drills (again indicating a frigid day in hell), Robin instead made her way past the battlements, off of the palace grounds and into the city’s shopping district.  
  
The sun was only cresting the horizon and the marketplace held a chill in the early morning. Untouched by the morning rays and the day’s commute the cobblestones were clean, cold, quiet underfoot. Robin hummed contentedly as she strolled, ambling the streets while shopkeeps prepared to open for the day.   
  
“Robin!”  
  
A flash of red at the end of the block pattered to her. In a flurry of long hair and flowing frock she was met and drawn into the slender embrace of her fellow.  
  
“Good to see you, Cordie,” she gushed. The pegasus knight was beautiful as ever, long hair tucked into an elegant plait at the neck. Without the burden and supplement of armor, she looked smaller, and somehow older. Although Robin suspected herself older than the girl, the war aged her considerably. “How have you been?”  
  
“Relieved to have stone walls and a real bed, mostly. So is Aurora, she missed her stablemates and a proper bath.” She smiled a bit but faltered immediately. “But I miss the Shepherds. It really is good to see a friendly face again.”   
  
“Again? What of the other Falcoknights, isn’t it good to be back with your troops?”  
  
Her expression clouded, a trademark sigh slipping out. “If I was unpopular before the war, I am a _blight_ now. I’ve not spoken to another soul other than Sumia since our return.”  
  
“But _why?_ ”  
  
“I survived when my squad didn’t. I returned home without them, without commander Phila… to outlive them all as the ‘prissy, perfectionist rookie’, you’d think I’d downed them in order to save myself.”  
  
Robin took her hand, horrified. “Gods, Cordie, haven’t they a single sympathetic bone in their bodies?”   
  
She shook her head. “It’s not that, they’re in mourning. So many of their senior leaders, practically squad mothers, sacrificed themselves for the Exalt and for myself. And while I had time to grieve on the march, it’s all so new here.” The faintest quaver in her voice barely exposed her sorrow. Beyond a momentary glazing of her eyes, Cordelia refrained from indulgent weeping, as it would likely stoke the ire of her fellow knights.   
  
Not one to submit to self-pity, Cordelia bucked up and pulled Robin to a nearby stand. “Oh, have a look! I always came here with my mother after shopping, she’d buy me a pasty as a reward for carrying the bags. Breakfast?”  
  
“Please!”  
  
The two hemmed and hawed over the still-warm spread laid over the booth. Buns, twists, loaves, and pasties wafted tantalizingly, their crusts floured or glossy or speckled with seeds and nuts. Eventually Cordelia submitted to an old favorite, chutney and cheese, while Robin bought three rhubarb compote twists.  
  
“Hungry, are we?” Cordelia mused with a raised brow as they settled on a bench.   
  
“Famished, but these aren’t for me – I’m bringing two back for Lissa and Chrom. They’ve been stuck at the castle preparing for the service, and I bet Lissa would love them.” Robin set aside her own and tightly wrapped the other twists before stowing them in her bag. She cast a wistful glance over her shoulder – even a couple miles away the stone battlements of the castle were visible beyond the towering buildings of the shopping district.  
  
“That’s right, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? All of the planning must be so hard for them…” Cordelia trailed off with a melancholy sigh, and Robin waited patiently for the spell of Chrom-induced-doldrums to subside. Sympathetic as she was to the feeling, Robin never broached the subject with Cordelia. Her own closeness with Chrom was no secret, and Cordelia was quick to inundate her with questions about his favorite color, sleeping patterns, verification on various girlfriend rumors – and it tired quickly.  
  
“And with the coronation immediately after, no less,” Robin agreed with a solemn nod. “Kind of a morbid combination, if you ask me.”  
  
“Too right. Although, if Chrom’s coronation is anything like Emmeryn’s, it’ll bring some much needed levity to the party.” Cordelia mused, taking an enormous bite from her pastry.  
  
Robin pondered her breakfast, hemming and hawing over which end to begin at, and gave Cordelia a minute to eat before continuing. “You attended Emmeryn’s coronation?”  
  
She nodded, swallowing her mouthful. “I was very young, barely four or five at the time. I hardly remember it, only flashes of things. A lot of white clothes, and dancing – there was an exceptional ball held for the occasion, according to my mother.” A sobering thought tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I remember how small she looked, sitting under that massive crown. And how she smiled, but I wasn’t convinced.”  
  
Rhubarb twist halfway to her mouth, Robin suddenly found herself without an appetite. She held it in her lap gravely, and Cordelia scrambled to lighten the mood. “Even then she was leaving deep impressions, though – seeing her up there is part of what inspired me to train to enlist for her Falcoknight division. And a newfound love of royal parties,” She added with a smirk. “I figured that if I was part of the Exalt’s retinue, I’d get to attend all of the glamorous balls.”  
  
“Always the oblique motivations with you,” Robin prodded cheekily. “No doubt frequenting them to indulge your hidden wild romantic.”  
  
“ _Exactly!_ ” She gushed. “Think of it – everyone dressed to the nines and looking totally unlike themselves, the dancing, the wine, the atmosphere – it’s perfect! I was in the shopping district the other day and I saw this dress that would be just right …”  
  
Robin grinned and tucked into her pastry while Cordelia launched into a rare outburst of girlish chatter. Though she did her best to stay engaged, her mind ambled back to the castle where a ten-year-old Emmeryn and a twenty-year-old Chrom sat under the looming shadow of a terrific crown.   


* * *

 

The swish of silken taffeta around Robin’s ankles was foreign as it was pleasant. In stark contrast to the heavy, durable fabric of her cloak, the smooth and lightweight material of the gown flowed beautifully in attractive draping with just enough shine to catch the light. Once the tightness of the bodice was overcome she could marvel at the fine inlays at the neckline, the pearled buttons running down the spine, and the satiny feel of the sleeves.   
  
In the full-length mirror hanging on the wall, Robin found a stranger. A beautiful, neat foreigner, immaculately tailored by the royal seamstress, unrecognizable save for the bemused expression and the dark tattoo inscribing the right hand. The figure gave a hesitant twirl for the mirror, letting the skirt’s hem flare and relishing in the rustle of expensive fabrics.   
  
_This gown is likely worth more than my entire wartime stipend. But it’s so formal, and_ white _… It looks like I’m attending my own wedding, not a memorial service_.    
  
Although a good ten minutes had passed since the royal tailor had finished the fitting and excused himself with a polite bow, Robin hadn’t the heart to remove the garment. Any memories of playing dress-up as a girl were long lost to her, so she permitted herself the indulgence.   
  
“Hey, Robin, you here? I saw the tailor and figured you’d be here, so I – _oh_.”  
  
She whirled around with a start. With her back to the door, Robin hadn’t noticed the click of the latch and the quiet entrance of her flummoxed comrade.  
  
“I see your past experiences have taught you nothing about knocking before entering,” she chided with as much humor as she could muster.  
  
“I – uh, right. Sorry.”  
  
Somehow Chrom looked more startled than she felt. As he ambled in the doorway an armload of papers toppled from his grasp, and as he stooped to retrieve them Robin caught the faintest flush across his temple. A private smirk played her lips as she bent to collect the sheets.  
  
 “Peace, I was kidding,” she pacified as she returned his papers. “Come on in, have a – er, seat.”  
  
During the march she’d make a point of squirreling a couple extra stools into her bunk in order to comfortably host meetings. Once at the castle, though, Robin argued her way into the most modest guest room available; though lavishly furnished with a handsome armoire, full mirror and a private lavatory, it lacked a sitting area. _Guess the bed will have to do._  
  
Chrom mumbled his thanks, perching himself at the edge of the bed as he fussed with the papers. Robin sat a careful distance away, eyeing the leaflets over his shoulder. She recognized the script as his own handwriting, with a great deal of cross-outs and edits in the margins.  
  
“What have you got there?” She asked, stealing a glance.  
  
“Transcripts for the speech tomorrow. Customarily, the next of kin speaks after the memorial ceremony, but the prior Exalt gives an address for the coronation. In this case, I’ll have to do both,” Chrom explained, sorting the pages back into order. “My advisors helped Emm through the same process when she was little. I guess it’s almost a tradition now…”  
  
His expression was stony as he trailed, looking beyond the pages in his hands. Robin ached for words to console, but none came to her. She settled for a hand on his shoulder. He blinked and cleared his throat, shaking his head.  
  
“Anyway, they gave it a proofread and suggested edits. I was wondering if you’d do the honors – you are one of my advisors, after all.”  
  
She took the papers eagerly. “Royal advisor. I like the sound of that.”  
  
With a grin she dove in as Chrom settled back on his elbows beside her. Much as she’d liked to dissect the speech for syntax and clarity, it read straight from his heart; honesty, respect and love for Emmeryn radiated from each paragraph, focusing on her devotion to her countrymen and the lengths she strove for peace and safety without skirting the hardships she faced from a stern father and a difficult transition to power. Even the shift from the memorial speech to the coronation address was perfectly in character – a simple but powerful oath to honor Emmeryn's memory and her policies for continued peace and prosperity.  
  
The penultimate paragraph swam in Robin’s vision and she had to blink rapidly before continuing.  
  
“That bad, huh?” Chrom fretted.  
  
“Don’t change anything,” she murmured as she scanned the conclusion. “It's perfect. I have no edits or advice for this one.” An odd emotion gnawed at Robin as she handed the script back to Chrom, something between pride and nostalgia. “You’re going to be a great leader, you know. You have nothing to worry about.”  
  
“Nothing to worry about?” he echoed with a humorless laugh. “My first draft of the coronation speech was just ‘I’m not ready for this,’ I am _deeply_ worried.”  
  
“Right. Maybe I oversimplified the issue a little…” Robin amended ruefully. “But you are an excellent leader, for what it’s worth.”  
  
She gripped his shoulder encouragingly, smiling. He returned the grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes – they were hard, like flint.  
  
“Robin, I’m terrified. Terrified of failing the country, of this lifestyle that I’d never thought I’d have to lead. Of giving up so many things I love to fulfill this role and please the council – and how _selfish_ I am to think this way.”  
  
“You’re _not_ selfish,” Robin soothed. “You’re the most selfless person I know. So much is changing so quickly, nobody would begrudge you these feelings.”  
  
He raised a wry eyebrow. “Selfless? _Emmeryn_ was selfless. She toiled and martyred since her tenth birthday for a country that hated her, and all I seem to think about is how lonesome I’ve felt since the homecoming…” Chrom trailed off, sighing.  
  
She tilted her head, puzzled. “Lonesome?”  
  
He fidgeted with the script, a knit of indecision forming between his brows. “It’s been really bizarre, not having you nearby all the time,” he explained with some difficulty.  
  
“I’m still nearby,” Robin argued. “It’s just been different since the war ended, I can’t be at your side incessantly.”  
  
“Exactly,” he pressed. “You’ve been at my side, unfailingly, ever since I tripped over that pile of amnesiac robes in the field. As an ally, a soldier, and my best friend. And now that the war’s over, you can go on and live however you please, and it _terrifies_ me to think of my life without you in it.”  
  
There it was, that same look of need and want she’d caught a glimpse of after Emmeryn died. It was intoxicating, and Robin swallowed hard against it. She could nearly hear the kick in her own pulse as Chrom set the speech aside and took hold of her hands. Around her own shock, Robin found Chrom’s hands clammy, his eyes overbright – he was anxious, too.  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I’ll be in your life. You’re my best friend, and I’ll always be here for you, remember?” Her mouth went dry and the air around her felt electric, unpredictable. Dangerous, as though awaiting a lightning strike.   
  
“But I’m _selfish._ Some time ago something changed, and that’s no longer enough.” With a shaky breath he calmed his nerves, and any hesitation in his eyes was burnt away by resolution. Carefully, he raised a hand to rest against her warm cheek. “I want more than that. I love you, Robin, and I want to stay by your side.”  
  
Her mouth fell open in a silent “o”. Chrom’s half-lidded gaze fell to her parted lips and he leaned in, almost unconsciously. Ever the helpful collaborator, Robin met him halfway with a careful brush, leaning into the rough touch of his callused hand.   
  
Sometimes when faced with a new problem post-memory loss she would hope and pray to Naga that deeply buried instinct or experience would kick in and guide her through whichever trial she’s facing. This was no exception. Robin smiled into the kiss, relief and thrill emboldening her as she wound her hands into his hair. She had done this before, and it came as naturally as breathing.   
  
The two moved together with the same synergy as on the battlefield, one inspired by the other. Robin felt hypersensitive as each new sensation magnified a hundred fold, from the heated trails Chrom’s hands left across her neck and waist to his lips, working slow and deep at her own. Before long she had to break for air, and over his shoulder she caught another glimpse of the stranger in the mirror. Her hair was prettily mussed, lips a little swollen, and a healthy blush ran from her forehead to the neckline of the extravagant dress.  
  
The foreigner, if one squinted hard enough, might’ve been mistaken for royalty.   
  
“Wait.” Robin stammered, unwrapping her arms from Chrom’s shoulders and pulling back to see him properly. The fine linens he wore were wrinkling and pulling away at the neck. His hair had begun to take on a mind of its own, and he, too, sported a reddened mouth. He wore the look very well.    
  
“Mmm? Something wrong?” He crooned, breathless.  
  
 “I, uhm…” She dawdled, fishing for resolve. “I think this may not be the best idea.”  
  
An incredible spectrum of emotion crossed his features then, running the gamut from confusion to hurt to embarrassment to regret in a nanosecond. “I… er, that is… have I gotten the wrong impression here? Lissa did always say I was thick to this sort of thing, and I didn’t even give you the chance to say anything, I just kind of assumed –”  
  
Robin shook her head, trying to stem the torrent. “No, no, it’s not that –”  
  
“Gods, if I’ve overstepped – as long as you can forgive me and we remain friends –”  
  
_“Chrom.”_  
  
Robin held a finger to his lips and he finally fell quiet. “Peace. You haven’t gotten the wrong idea. I…” she stammered, removing her hand from his swollen lips. If she wasn’t careful there’d be no turning back. “You’re so important to me, Chrom. But this is impossible. The Exalt and his chief tactician? It isn’t right.”  
  
“Isn’t… right _?_ ”  
  
“Think of your advisors, your councils. I’m sure they’ve got a smart match for your already, one with proper breeding and strong political ties and petticoats. I’m sure the impropriety of this would put them into an early grave.” A detectable amount of distaste seeped into her voice as Sumia came to mind. Robin couldn’t feign deafness to Frederick and Lissa’s discussions on Sumia’s eligibility – Lissa would eagerly note her longtime infatuation with Chrom and impeccable sense of style while Frederick admired her strong family background.  
  
“Hang propriety,” he rumbled, just low enough to make Robin’s toes curl. “I don’t care about breeding, or petticoats or political marriages. I care about _you_.”  
  
“And I you. But… I’m selfish, too. I have this grand, martyred idea that I should do what’s best for the both of us. By… leaving Ylisstol.”  
  
Chrom was stricken. “Leaving? Why?”  
  
Robin took a deep breath and failed to steady her voice. “Because I might have a family out there, somewhere, missing me. Because my involvement here would be a political nightmare. Because…” She had to look away from his face to his hands, clutching her own. “… I don’t have any facet of myself that isn’t completely rooted in you.”  
  
Their hands had no response, and she plowed on. “All I know of my current life has been with, and for, you. Fighting in the army. Being your friend. Rescuing Emmeryn. I’m afraid… Afraid that I don’t know who I am, as myself, and not just an extension of you and the war.”  
  
Timidly she risked a peek at his face. It was worse than she’d expected – he was utterly broken, vulnerable to a degree she hadn’t seen since Emmeryn’s death. In spite of that, he didn’t let go. He held to Robin’s hands as though they were a lifeline, watched them as though waiting for them to provide answers. When he next spoke it was with a voice that was quiet, focused, strained with emotion.  
  
“I can’t recover your past, or decide what your future is going to be. I can’t leave Ylisstol and help you find your family, or resolve an identity crisis. But know… know that whatever you decide, I will abide by it, no matter how painful.” He finally worked the nerve to look Robin in the eye, fixing her with a look with enough gravity to send chills through her spine. “Except, don’t make any decision thinking it’s in my best interest. Emmeryn made that mistake, I won’t see you make it, too.”   
  
Letting go of her hands, he collected his script and rose from the bed. “If only this once, I want this decision to be in _your_ interest.”  
  
Robin’s vision swam, and she could barely make out Chrom as he strode to the doorway and paused. In the deafening silence she had no trouble hearing his parting words before the thunderous latch of the door.   
  
“I’m always here if you need me. I love you, Robin.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chrom was, in almost every right, a terrible actor. It was part of his charm – for all of the aristocracy and regality his tutors had attempted to bash into him, he retained a bluntness that was most improper of a young lord. Lying and insincerity were unbecoming of him.   
  
Despite this, Robin knew well enough to tell when he was faking it. Chrom’s self-assured confidence was a cornerstone of his leadership; it’s what empowered the masses, encouraged the meek, and convinced the more sensible of his followers to charge into hopeless situations. Like a good leader, he knew to fabricate it and wear confidence like a costume when he was insecure or fearful. It was the only instance where he convincingly acted the part, but Robin could pick out the subtle discrepancies.   
  
Even across the great hall she spotted his nerves eking through. Though he stood tall, proud, decked out in the finest embroidered cloth and ceremonial armor the realm could afford, his posture was stiff. His eyes darted just a hair too quickly. His right hand, which normally lay casually across the cross-guard of Falchion’s hilt, tightly curled around the pommel in a white-knuckled grip. Although he wore the sword for ceremony alone, he clutched it as though readying for combat. Every so often Lissa would nudge him from her station to his left and toss a secret smile or a wink over his shoulder and a muscle would relax. Frederick, not far behind Lissa, would stiffen and don his patented _what-would-your-parents-say_ expression at every exchange, which only served to send the princess into a fit of giggles and force Chrom to pass off a snort as a sad imitation of a cough.   
  
Standing at the back of the hall, Robin stewed in a cocktail of emotions and indecision. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Chrom since reading his script the night before, and knew that she’d only added to his mountain of stress. Even still, habit willed her to be _with_ the prince and princess, reassuring them, encouraging them, offering what little tactical advice she had. Not milling about the back of the hall behind the audience of lords and ladies, foreign representatives, elected officials, and toothless old benefactors.   
  
At least she was in good company. Although many of the Shepherds were seating alongside their families with the other lords and ladies, all those who served in the war but lacked titles and estates were invited and had filed alongside Robin in the back. Her heart swelled to see her comrades flanking her right and left: Stahl, in his ceremonial best but unable to tame the cowlicked mess that was his hair, Vaike, most unhappily bullied into wearing a dress shirt, Donnel looking fit to burst while staring, wide-eyed around the room, Nowi, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get a better look. As she looked around, Robin was more than a little surprised to see a certain taguel slink into the room, eyeing the masses wearily and looking more than a little uncomfortable.  
  
Robin called to her, waving. “Over here, Panne!”  
  
Panne bounded to Robin’s side, pointedly avoiding eye contact with people and wincing slightly whenever they jostled into her. “ _Finally_. It was a nightmare to find you in this sea of man-spawn,” Panne exhaled, relieved. “The way they ogle and mutter amongst themselves when they see me, thinking I can’t hear them... to think they’re supposed to be aristocrats.”   
  
Robin sighed, shaking her head. “If it’s any consolation, I doubt that behavior is entirely race-centric – I got similar treatment on my first day here, too. For what it’s worth, I’m thrilled to see you,” She added, beaming. “You look stunning.”  
  
And she did, looking truly radiant in a ceremonial tunic that Robin hadn’t seen before. White, like her own gown, but with intricate patterns sewn into the collar and navy trim. “I’m told that we’re wearing white to signify the soul’s return to Naga, is there similar meaning behind your outfit?” Robin asked, curious.  
  
“As if I’d subscribe to man-spawn dogma,” Panne snorted, but softened. “The taguel believe that the souls of the departed return to the moon. The white is to honor her color, the blue, the night sky around her.”  
  
“I see!” Robin gushed, hungry for cultural history. “I wonder if one informed the other, then, or if the two traditions share an intersection –”  
  
“Shhh.”  
  
Robin halted her tirade, confused. Had she offended Panne by insinuating cross-cultural similarities?  
  
All was made clear when the massive doors to the back of the hall opened. A procession of clergy, led by a truly ancient hierarch, made their way down the center aisle of the hall. Their parade to the throne was almost comically slow, either necessitated by the hierarch’s feeble gait or his need to finish warbling a hymn before reaching Chrom, but after an eternity the procession finally ended.   
  
Robin only half-listened as the hierarch gave a lengthy sermon, bestowing the blessings of Naga upon the realm, the royal lineage, the war heroes, all those in attendance, and finally Emmeryn, Lissa, and Chrom. Instead she watched the siblings, awestruck at how much they’ve grown since they’d met. Instead of the gawky adolescent who’d whined about bear meat, Robin found a young princess who’d truly grown into her title. One who held her head high and faced a war with admirable optimism and saved countless lives, all before her seventeenth birthday. Dressed as she was with an elegant, long gown and her hair down and curled into soft ringlets, she bore a deep and touching resemblance to her older sister.  
  
And Chrom had never looked more regal. For all of his blunt honesty, his predisposition for breaking practice dummies and napping too often and ambling into the wrong bathing tent, his nobility could not be refuted. As the hierarch finished his prayer and stepped aside, Robin found herself holding her breath when Chrom stepped forward to speak. The whole audience joined her, waiting with bated breath to hear their king.   
  
_“My family, friends, countrymen – thank you for coming out today. For many, this is likely the second time we’ve met, not since Emmeryn stood here fifteen years ago on her coronation day._  
Back then she stood here, heiress to the throne of a warring country and barely ten years old. Our father left the realm war-torn, impoverished, and highly mistrustful of its leadership. Many feared another reigning monarch whose legacy would be that of aggression and conflict. Those that didn’t know her rioted, threw rocks, and feared for their lives; those that knew her, though, understood her passion for Ylisse and her people.  
  
Emmeryn has longed for peace as far back as I can remember. It wasn’t a byproduct of her upbringing, or something taught by my mother, father, or the council, but a quality she’d demonstrated from a very early age. One of my earliest memories of her is that of an eight-year-old girl, absolutely covered in ink and surrounded by piles of wasted parchment. She didn’t yet have full mastery of the written alphabet, and so she was trying to sound out each word as she wrote. I kept pestering her to stop, to play with me, to let me help, but she said ‘no, this is important’. It took the better part of an afternoon, many bottles of ink and the halidom’s reserve of parchment, but she eventually finished and brought her first royal proposal to my father.   
  
You see, earlier that year my father redoubled his efforts in the religious conquests of Plegia. Nine thousand more troops had been deployed for the cause, and poor weather had wrought damage on farmlands, homes and the health of the people. Although she was too young to participate in council discussions about public policy, homeland security, the farmers’ unions, she was always listening. She heard castle staff talking about their families in Southtown, losing fathers and uncles and brothers to the draft. She overheard schoolmarms lamenting the malnutrition and poverty among their students. And so, this eight-year-old girl stretched her lexicon as far as it would go and drafted her first proposal to end the religious conflicts and presented it to our father, Lord Anatol.  
  
Ultimately, Lord Anatol dismissed the proposal, writing it off as a foolish, childish plight. Lady Elenna, however, prized the document, and the empathy that compelled Emmeryn to write it. My mother nurtured that empathy and implored that I learn from it, stressing that empathy is the most valuable asset to a leader. Not strength, not experience, not breeding or tutelage or brute force, but empathy – an innate thing, one that’s difficult to teach, particularly to adults. Emmeryn was empathy incarnate, and transitively a natural born leader, the only leader that I consider truly exalted.   
  
“And so, the title of Exalt shall remain with my sister. I may inevitably fail to fill her shoes and achieve the international amity that she always strove for, but I will never, ever stop trying. Her grace, bravery, and fairness will inform my every step, and her guidance will allow me to better serve the halidom. With the help of my family, advisors, councils, and countrymen, we’ll work to build the peaceful world that she envisioned.”  
  
When thinking back on that moment, Robin couldn’t remember who – or what – broke the deafening silence that followed the speech. Perhaps it was Vaike’s barely-contained sniffling, or Donnel’s awestruck “shee-yooot”, or the combined silk-rustling and arthritic joint-cracking of the aristocracy rising to a standing ovation.  Mostly, she heard a country roaring its approval, her own voice choking out something between a laugh and a sob, and the home-shaped void in her heart filling with Chrom’s oath.   


* * *

  
  
After the coronation ceremony the audience was corralled into the dining hall for an exceptional feast, and then funneled once again back into another great hall. Now, chairs were lined against the walls and in little groups around hors d’oeuvre tables, and a twenty-piece orchestra was playing ballroom dance music for the aristocrats.    
  
Away from the cloud of perfumed women and ancient courtiers the majority of the Shepherds conspicuously clumped like gazelles in the desert. Though they dressed the part, most of the soldiers were more at home in barracks than salons, and unfamiliarity drove them towards the only things they knew: each other, and the seemingly unending pitchers of wine toted around by nervous young servers.  
  
Before long the atmosphere on the Shepherds’ end of the hall began to take on a life of its own. Gaius stole away to the posh border and returned with a handful of borrowed court musicians who gladly set up shop in the corner and began to play a favorite folk tune. A couple wallflowers crept away from the wine table, humming along contentedly, while the truly bold elbowed their neighbors and egged each other into dancing. Excited chatter erupted while a makeshift dancefloor was cleared in the center of their pile so that the local recruits could teach foreign soldiers the steps to the local dances.  
  
Robin smiled widely as she watched her comrades bumble their way through the steps, made clumsy by insecurity, nerves and their blood alcohol levels. Her own crystalline glass of wine in hand, she was more than happy to watch from the safety of the fringes.   
  
“Unlike you to lurk, Bubbles.”   
  
She jumped a bit, too engrossed by the dancers to notice her new company. “I’m not lurking, this is tactical observation. For safety.”  
  
Gaius crossed his arms, tutting. “So what you’re telling me is that you happily ran headlong into armies of religious sycophants and the actual undead, but you’re afraid of a little dancing?”   
  
“I’m unafraid of a _challenge_ , if that’s what you’re insinuating,” she retorted. Holding her head high, she drained her goblet and set it aside, hands on her hips. “Well?”  
  
“There’s our fearless leader!” Gaius commended, offering his hand with a flourish. “ _Milady.”_  
  
Robin took his hand, laughing. “Ew, Gaius, you’re sticky. And you have raspberry coulis on your collar,” she scolded.   
  
“Those berry and custard tarts get me every time. Senseless, making tiny food that isn’t supposed to be eaten with your hands,” he shrugged, towing her nearer to the band. “This tune they’re starting is in two. The first eight counts go _hop, hop, step-step-step hop, hop, step-step-step,_ then _cross, cross, cross, cross, cross, cross, cross, cross._ Then all of that repeats for another eight counts. Got all that?”  
  
“No. Not even a little.”  
  
“Fair enough. Then watch the first eight, we’ll join in on the repeat.”  
  
Robin eyed the dance floor and picked out the most skilled couple, watching them like a hawk. They expertly worked their way through the steps, matching each other hop for cross for step. Before she knew it the first eight counts were over and she was being dragged into the fray, heart hammering and palms slick. Gaius smiled encouragingly, calling to her over the band.   
  
“You’ve got this, just mirror me.”  
  
Gaius was surprisingly at home on the dance floor, Robin noted with a degree of surprise as she watched his feet intently, following a half beat behind. She followed along passably through the hops, finally falling into time for the _step-step-step_ , and even gaining confidence as she crossed her feet, one over the other, for the end of the sequence.   
  
“That’s it, Bubbles! The next part’s different - now step in, hand up, turn right for four counts.”  
  
She looked up from his feet to find Gaius offering his right hand, a wry smile and a glitter to his eyes. She took his hand she stumbled in a clockwise semicircle, a little late.  
  
“Now spin, clap, spin, and repeat in the other direction.”  
  
All around her the women were pirouetting gracefully to face away from their partners, clapping twice, then spinning back to meet them with their left hands extended. Robin dropped it entirely, scrambling to spin around once and nearly falling back to center, scrambling for Gaius’s left hand. He chortled, walking them counterclockwise.  
  
“Next is the same, just left.”  
  
“Got it!”  
  
This time Robin kept pace with the others, spinning in time and collecting the claps. When she turned back to face Gaius, she finally wore a smile to match.  
  
“Nice one, Bubbles,” He praised. “The second half is almost exactly the same as the first half, so you can relax now.”  
  
“And what makes you think I’m not the picture of relaxation?” Robin asked in mock anguish.  
  
“Certainly not the grip like a griffon talon,” he poked, waggling the fingers that were being crushed in Robin’s own. She slackened her hold, chewing on her lip.  
  
“Sorry about that.”   
  
They broke apart to start the second half of the dance, and now Robin was proficient enough to keep up with the band. The dance was mercifully repetitive, and by the last _step-step-step­_ was through she was easily keeping pace with Gaius. She took his hand for the first clockwise turn, this time minding her grip.  
  
“How’d you learn to dance so well, Gaius?” Robin asked, carefully keeping count.  
  
“These are a tavern staple, and this one in particular is popular where I grew up,” he explained.  
  
Robin was about inquire about Gaius’s hometown when a cheer erupted behind her shoulder and broke her concentration. She collected herself quickly, unwilling to be distracted when they were mere moments from the end of the dance and damn it, she was going to nail the last step. Robin executed the final turn with far too much gusto, whacking into the couple behind her while turning to face Gaius with breathless excitement. Laughing, Gaius gave the most overstated bow possible.  
  
“Well done, Bubs. By the next dance you’ll be leveling the whole floor,” he commended sarcastically while Robin apologized profusely to the woman she smacked. She was about to cuff him as well, but stopped short when Gaius’s smile hardened. Confused, she watched him smirk at something just beyond her shoulder.  
  
“You seem lost, Blue, the highborn party is that way,” he drawled, nodding towards the far end of the ballroom.  
  
_Blue?_  
  
“We’ve had our fill of nobility for a lifetime, if you’ll allow us back to the real party.”  
  
Robin spun on her heels to find Chrom and Lissa, freed from hobnobbing and looking more like their former selves. Lissa flashed the group a radiant smile before bounding away towards the hors d’oeuvre table where Stahl and Sully were engaged in an eating contest. Chrom watched her retreat with a raised eyebrow before leaning in to address Robin.  
  
“Mind if I cut in?”  
  
She answered without thinking. “Of course not! Although…” guiltily she turned to Gaius, who shrugged and folded his arms.   
  
“You know where to find me if you want to tap out.” He nodded to the dessert table turned heel, but Robin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.   
  
“Hey, thanks for teaching me. And for dragging me away from the wine table.”  
  
The corner of his mouth upturned. “Anytime, Bubs.”   
  
And with a wink he was gone. Robin heaved a sigh and turned back to Chrom, whose mouth was pursed in something approaching a pout.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come chase him off like a browbeaten father,” he mumbled. “Promise. Just one politically correct dance.”  
  
She shook her head, chewing on the smile that threatened to spread across her face. She couldn’t pretend _not_ to enjoy the jealous streak. “No worries, I’ll see him later. Come on, I need to show you what I’ve learned.”  
  
Before she was entirely cognizant of what she was doing, she’d taken Chrom by the hand and led him to the floor. The musicians trilled an intro, and with profound relief Robin recognized the same form as the dance she’d just finished. _Very classy, going easy on the foreigners so we don’t get overwhelmed by too many dance routines._  
  
Chrom smirked. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”  
  
The two bowed, and Chrom offered his hand. Though he smiled, something in Chrom’s expression remained guarded, cautious - _probably doesn’t want to make things weird_. She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before the music whisked her away.   
  
A brighter tempo forced Robin to act on reflex instead of carefully planning each step, liberating and electrifying her steps. She was making mistakes, to be sure, but they were over with so quickly that she couldn’t dwell on them.    
  
“I shouldn’t be surprised that you picked it up quickly,” Chrom mused when they met for the four-count semicircle. “It took me three full terms of lessons to get a hang of it.”   
  
She couldn’t resist the opportunity. “Unsurprising, with your penchant for breaking things – I’m sure after so many broken toes it’d become difficult to find a dance partner.”  
  
They broke apart to spin and clap, and when they stepped back together she was relieved to find Chrom finally relaxed, grinning toothily and leaning in to avoid yelling above the music. “After my well-crafted speech about peace, you’re _really_ trying to provoke me into ballroom brawl?”   
  
“I could hardly call myself your friend if I didn’t make your coronation night memorable,” she quipped, but leaned audaciously close while doing so. Perhaps it was the comfort of familiarity, the thrill of dancing, or maybe it was Ylisse’s finest vintage – something emboldened Robin. With each hop and spin she leapt farther, twirled faster, throwing her gown’s hem in wider arcs before stepping back into Chrom, the space between the two dwindling with each repeat. Before she knew it the final section of the dance was upon her, and she leaned in as close as she dared so that nobody would overhear.   
  
“Before I release you to the adoring masses,” Robin puffed, trying to catch her breath. “I wanted to tell you how proud I am. You were exceptional today. And, I wanted to tell you that…” she dawdled, finally realizing how close they’d gotten. His panting breath ghosted her forehead, and his cape nearly shrouded her when they spun.  
  
He leaned even closer, down to her eye level. His voice was breathless, she hardly caught it above the music. “Tell me?”  
  
“Tell you that I…” She broke off for the final spin, coming to rest in a concluding bow as the orchestra rolled their ending chord. “I’ve decided whether or not I’m leaving. Let’s talk later tonight, after everything’s wrapped up.”  
  
“Can’t you tell me _now?_ ” He implored, all levity leaving his face.   
  
She might have given an answer if a wave of Shepherds not crashed upon the dance floor and proved her point. In short order goblets were passed around and a toast was offered, saluting Chrom and Lissa and the Shepherds and Naga and the royal reserve of wine. Chrom donned his breastplate of confidence and raised his glass, his baritone booming and strong.  
  
“To Ylisse!”  
  
Robin wasn’t fooled – he nearly drowned in the goblet in his haste to finish it. She drank deeply, vowing to end his torment as quickly and painlessly as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irrelevant but fun tidbits – the dance from this chapter is something akin to a Rigadoun, a Baroque dance form. And for any of those who’re playing Fire Emblem Heroes – Horse!Chrom’s regalia is not too unlike what I’d pictured for his coronation outfit. Having dweeby horse-uninclined Chrom get sort of canonized was a real treat.


	5. Chapter 5

Change was coming. The heavy weight of summer humidity and lightning storms relinquished their hold on the atmosphere and were replaced by thinning clouds, stirred about by a cold breeze and allowing constellations to wink in the crisp air. The nighttime song and dance of frogs and fireflies had packed up for the season and quieted into the faraway chirps of crickets.  
  
Robin shivered a bit as she paced the halls of the castle, her heels clicking merrily against the stone tiles. Her gown was much more form than function, and while it kept her comfortably cool in the throng of dancers it had little to offer against the looming autumn that seeped through windows and spilled through open doorways. Despite the chill she’s grateful for the fresh air, the abundant space, the quiet. With her thoughts whirring, she feels as though they’ll spill from her ears and fill the entire castle if she doesn’t keep moving.  
  
Restless feet quickly carry Robin to her closest approximation of sanctuary – the royal guest wing. Directionless energy channeled up through her hands and she flung open her guest room door with too much gusto, spooking a nearby guard.  
  
“Sorry!” she offered to the guard, ducking in with an apologetic wave. Robin’s ears nearly missed the end of a beleaguered sigh before the door shut.  
  
Inside she found no solace, nothing to quiet her mind. Moonlight slanted appealingly through gaps in the heavy blinds, spilling a pearly glow over the floor and a handsome wooden trunk holding her few worldly possessions. Sitting before it, she undid the chest’s latches with a gratifying _click_ and pawed through its contents: tonics gifted from Stahl, a bawdy romance novella borrowed from Sumia, a Chron’sinian shawl gifted by Lon’qu (she’d been terribly ill-equipped for the Feroxi cold), lace handkerchiefs, forcibly given by Maribelle (“ _honestly_ , dear, that boorish sneezing!”), an exquisite pendant, hush money from Gaius. She unpacked each item with care, prizing the memories they held and friends who bequeathed them. Beneath the mantle of gifts was a thinner core of her own things; textbooks on war history, figurines employed in battle diagramming, sundry spellbooks, and her trusted cloak. Though it lacked the sentimentality of emotional memories, the cloak was security. It was familiarity, and it was _her_.  
  
_A glorified safety blanket._ Robin snorted to herself as she tossed the cloak about her shoulders, indulging in its familiar weight and permitting herself a glance in the mirror before shuffling from the room. Her coat positively ruined the effect of the dress, and her hair was working itself free of the meticulous pinning Cordelia had slaved over that morning; frankly, she looked a mess, but felt more like herself.  
  
Ambling in the entrance to the great hall, she found the party still very much alive. The warring circles of aristocrats and Shepherds had joined into one amoeba and equalized in energy, the soldiers bringing the dynamism up and the elite tempering it to a manageable level. With no surprise she noted Lissa whirling about the dance floor with a slightly green Stahl in tow, likely suffering the combination of his eating contest and too much spinning. With a great deal of surprise she found Panne had joined the party, but still kept herself a sizeable distance from the main crowd. She wasn’t alone, though – walking her through the steps of the slow tune was none other than Frederick, crisp and attentive as always but wearing an expression she’d never before seen on the imposing knight.  
  
Spellbound, Robin watched the two waltz until a clatter of heels and a voice calling her name drew her attention from the tableau. She grinned widely, bracing for impact as the scurrying newcomer launched into a hug.  
  
“Good to see you, too,” Robin chortled as Lissa constricted the wind from her. “Enjoying the party?”  
  
“Loads!” Lissa gushed, pulling back giving a sweeping gesture to the ballroom. “I mean, look at this! I can’t remember the last time everyone had such a good time, even _Frederick_ let his hair down for this one! Metaphorically, anyway.”  
  
“I never thought I’d see the day when Frederick the Weary would loosen up enough to dance,” Robin agreed, nodding. “I saw you cutting the rug out there, by the way,” she added, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Looks like you and Stahl had a nice time tucked away in a corner.”  
  
“I had no choice but to hide in the corner!” She wailed, gesturing plaintively but coloring all the same. “Between Chrom’s paranoid lurking and the ever-present threat of the meat market we couldn’t find two seconds to ourselves!”  
  
Robin cocked her head. “The meat market?”  
  
Lissa put her hands on her hips and tutted impatiently. “The longer I go unbetrothed, the more eligible the council thinks I am to being auctioned off to the highest, frilliest bidder. It’s the same thing at any social event, I’d have to spend entire parties listening to Lord Whosawhatsit’s life story, or dancing with Baron Von Bore’s specky grandnephew because the council saw fit to forge useful alliances.” She shook her head, as though to dispel a cloud of gnats.  
  
“The council’s going to have a field day when they hear about Stahl,” Robin sighed darkly.  
  
“They might, but I’m not worried about them. Emmeryn didn’t achieve peace by marrying the first lord that came along, so I won’t either.” She shrugged, continuing. “It’s not as though I blame the council – they’re just trying to serve the realm and reinforce the throne.”  
  
Robin raised an eyebrow. “When did you get so level-headed?”  
  
Lissa snorted and gave her a well-deserved elbow to the ribs. “Ex- _cuse_ me, I’ve always been a paragon of level-headedness. _And_ maturity.”  
  
“Of course, _milady_ ,” Robin drawled, curtsying deeply.

She groaned in mock anguish. “First Gaius, now you, too?”  
  
“Sorry, you’re just an easy target. Chrom is, too.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot!” Lissa gasped, clapping her hands together. “Chrom was looking for you earlier! Wonder where he’s off to… Oh.”  
  
Robin followed Lissa’s gaze over the ballroom and found the prince in question. At the far side of the hall she spotted Chrom, awash in a sea of ladies painted and glittered and jeweled like birds of paradise. Though he smiled politely to a woman chattering away to his left, his darting eyes locked with the two of them and they waved pityingly.  
“Poor guy, the meat market already got him.” Lissa lamented. “It looks like his eyes are screaming.”

“He’ll be alright. Most men would kill for this problem,” Robin quipped, smirking. “I’m headed outside for some air, want to join me?”  
  
“Maybe later, I’ve still got some dancing left in me. Besides, sister’s honor requires me to free him from his shackles.” She explained, pantomiming the rolling up of her sleeves. “Wish me luck!”  
  
“Godspeed.”  
  
Robin waved the princess off, the train of her gown and golden curls quickly swallowed by the throng of dancers. Chrom caught her eye once again, his brow knit with silent questions.  
  
“ _Meet me in the courtyard._ ” Robin mouthed, gesturing towards the double doors behind her. Chrom nodded his understanding, relief softening the hard edge of his jaw.  
  
She offered a small smile and turned to leave, hesitating at the threshold. The sticky humidity and hum of the crowd fell away and was lost to the quiet chill of the hallway. Steeling herself with a deep breath, Robin drew her cloak tightly about her shoulders and with a sure step, she moved forward.

* * *

  
  
Compared to the rest of the castle, the central courtyard was far from grand. Tall walls surrounding the area eliminated all potential for a scenic view, but ivy vines scurried up the ramparts, bobbing and weaving along grout and drawing the eye upward to a pristine night sky. A gibbous moon cast a pearly glow, bloated with party merriment and casting nearby stars into shadow.  
  
Chrom found Robin pondering one of the few trees in the courtyard when he finally extracted himself from the impeccably manicured claws of the noblewomen. With much of the courtyard shaded by surrounding walls throughout the daylight hours, only the very center of it received a full day of sunlight. Standing head and shoulders beyond anything else, the great willow tree in the middle was a sight to behold – its long tendrils hung heavily above a semicircle of marbled benches, weighed by a full mantle of golden leaves that detached and fluttered to the ground when the winds blew through. Ducking through the boughs, Robin met him at the benches with a small smile.  
  
“Hello,” she greeted.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“This is a… erm, nice tree that you have here.”  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Thank you. It seems to have taken a liking to you, as well,” he mused, eyeing Robin’s hair. A crown of fallen leaves had lodged itself into her hair and spilled into the hood of her cloak, and he carefully brushed some stragglers from her shoulder. “Your kinship with plants will never cease to amaze.”  
  
Robin yelped and tossed her head, sending most of the leaves cascading to her feet. Chrom struggled to maintain a straight face and ignored the stubborn foliage clinging to her tresses, gesturing to sit at the nearest bench. She obliged with murmured thanks, perching beside him with calculated ease.  
  
“Lissa says she’s seen you in here a lot since the homecoming,” he offered. “I have to wonder if you were serious about rooting down and retiring as a bush.”  
  
“Not quite yet,” Robin snorted before pausing, thoughtful. “Something about this courtyard feels almost… nostalgic? Is that something I can say? Comforting?” She turned her gaze around the enclosure, sweeping over low hedges corralling dormant flowerbeds, a granite birdbath whose water pooled like reflective glass. “It feels… homey.”  
  
“Homey, huh?”  
  
She bit her tongue, watching him carefully. He’d pounced on the merest glimmer of promise like a starving animal and his face shone with hope. The sudden optimism gave him a boyish look that contended heavily with the ceremonial finery, the cape, the crown. “Not in the traditional sense – this place reminds me more of a feeling. Of tall walls, or a cold night, of solitude. I must have spent a lot of time in places like this.”  
  
“Oh.” Though he tried his best to muscle his face into neutrality, disappointment colored his eyes. “You’ve remembered some of your past, then?”  
  
“Nothing concrete, just impressions of it.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
A heavy pause hung between the two of them, interrupted only by the whisper of a breeze stirring the boughs of the old willow tree. Flaxen leaves flitted by, settling in the birdbath and shattering the water’s crystalline surface. Robin admired the moonlight as it rippled through the basin while Chrom fretted with Falchion’s scabbard. Three times he opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again, frowning deeply.  
  
Agitation finally overcame his uncertainty and Chrom turned to Robin, mussing his hair. “It’s been the longest twenty four hours of my life, not knowing what’s going on in your head. I’d taken that for granted, your freeness with letting me know what’s on your mind.”  
  
Robin let out a sheepish laugh, shaking her head. “In all fairness, I haven’t had a handle on what’s on my mind either. I’m sorry for keeping you out of the loop, I really _did_ try to mitigate the damage while you’ve had the coronation on your plate, honest.”  
  
An aching fondness muscled its way onto his face, settling in the corners of his eyes and the slant of his brow. “I know. And I’m sorry, I didn’t give you the chance to elaborate on what’s on your mind. I was too busy being a selfish boor and throwing a royal tantrum.” He exhaled deeply, collecting himself for a moment before continuing. “But this time, I won’t come on like a wyvern in heat, or storm off in a huff. No holding back, just let me know what’s on your mind.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
When she finally pried her eyes from the rippling waves of the birdbath and turned to Chrom her expression was resolute, firm.

“I’ve been really worried about the homecoming for a long time now, but it wasn’t until recently that I knew _why_ , exactly. The sensible reason would be that I had no real _home_ to return to – I had no recollection of company, no purpose and no family waiting for me, and I was scared to be alone.”  
  
“But,” she fumbled, toying with her hands. “I knew that wasn’t the full truth, because I _did_ have family to return to. In meeting you, Lissa, Frederick, all the Shepherds, I’ve found family in _spades_. Everyone has opened their homes and their hearts to me, and I consider myself immeasurably lucky to be welcomed into the homes of such treasured friends.” A wry smile crept across her lips and she tilted her chin thoughtfully. “Especially yours.”  
  
Chrom’s struggle to maintain neutrality failed and another spark of hope backlit his expression, locking his eyes to hers.  
  
“I’ve been with at your side for the entirety of my life as I know it. Ever since that day in Southtown we’ve grown closer, stronger, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” Robin’s brow furrowed and she reached for Chrom’s hand, resting on the bench between them. “But it’s also gotten to the point where I can’t imagine _myself_ separately from you, from the war. I know myself as _your_ tactician, _your_ adviser, _your_ best friend. I don’t know the standalone Robin at all yet – I don’t know what her favorite foods are, if she likes to sleep in or wake up early, whether she likes to live in the city or the country, how she gets along with children or animals. I don’t know how she leads her civilian life beyond the war.”  
  
Traces of optimism flickered and extinguished like a candle. Chrom’s gaze dropped to her hand covering his own, and though he did not withdraw it, his fingers curled into a tight fist.  
  
“I see.” His shoulders slumped, and he glumly addressed their hands again. “So you’re leaving, then?”  
  
Robin gave a small nod. “Tomorrow.”  
  
An oppressive weight seemed to settle between the two of them. Chrom moved to retract his hand, and was more than a little surprised when Robin’s slender fingers tightened around his. Raising an eyebrow, he found an unexpected glint of mischief coloring her expression.  
  
“I was actually hoping you’d help me move tomorrow, if you had some free time,” She mused drily. “Help me set the place up, you know, give me your opinions.”  
  
He couldn’t stop the grimace from overtaking his face. “Don’t you think that’s adding insult to injury, asking me to personally remove you from my life?”  
  
“I’ll put it this way: don’t you want to know where I’m moving?”

Chrom blinked, stupefied. “Yes?”

She nodded to the courtyard’s eastern wall, gesturing far beyond it. “You know the estates beyond the training grounds and the barracks, the one’s owned by Sully’s family? They have a cottage at the edge of their property that was recently vacated, and I’m going to rent it for a bit.”  
  
A spectrum of emotion overcame Chrom, spanning relief, joy, doubt and settling on confusion. “So you’re leaving the castle and moving… down the street?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“But… _why?_ ”  
  
“Because…” Robin started, taking a huge breath in and out to arrange her thoughts. “I want to take advantage of this opportunity, this big, clean, imposing slate. Right now I have infinite options – I could shove off and try to hunt down any scrap of information leading to my family, I could enlist in the Falcoknight division with Cordelia, I could retire to the countryside with Panne. I can take my time to figure out exactly what kind of life I want to lead after the war, how I want to make this transition into peace.”  
  
“But for now,” she continued. “I want to take a minute to collect myself. Live on my own, help restoration efforts, advise you, train with Frederick… business as normal.”  
  
“That… that’s great!” Chrom exhaled. “But… you’re sure you have to move out of the castle?”  
  
She nodded sagely. “I want to make a name for myself here instead of riding your coattails to the top of society. Besides, Ylissean social etiquette seems to frown upon unmarried couples living together.”  
  
“As if _social etiquette_ was ever something to slow you down.” he quipped, before stopping short. “Wait…”  
  
Realization dawned over him and his mouth fell open in a silent “o”. Heat pooled across Robin’s cheeks, and before she could think better of it, she leaned in to ghost a kiss across his lips. His mouth twisted in a grin beneath hers, but before she was ready he’d already pulled back and was gazing into her eyes as though she’d evaporate into the evening breeze.  
  
Robin pouted, already aching for the lost nearness. “Is something wrong?”  
  
He offered a sheepish smile, reaching carefully to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “Forgive me, I just… just need to make sure that you, I mean…” His brow knit, and Robin could sense the building pressure of inarticulate concern building behind the babbling. “With all that’s happened over the last couple days, and with my tendency to get ahead of myself – with the dancing and the wine and that _dress_ –”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I just need you to know that even if I’m wrong and making an ass of myself, I still support your decisions and –”  
  
“ _Chrom_.”  
  
Robin stemmed the flow with a finger to his lips, trying to ignore their softness and the color she could feel radiating from her face. “I promise, you haven’t misinterpreted anything, this time or last time.” Carefully she moved hand to cup his cheek, reveling in the crooked, boyish grin that she knew so well. “You were right. I was just… afraid. Afraid of what kind of effect my constant presence would have on the beginning of your reign – what your council, allies, enemies, even suitors would think of a nationless girl you found on the ground. But peacetime Robin doesn’t give two figs what they’ll think of her. And I don’t care if you’re better off with a well-bred show pony. I’m selfish, and self-centered, and I love you, Chrom.” She felt her throat tighten around the words she’d feared to utter for so long. “You’re my partner, my other half. I want to bring you my whole self, and stay by your side.”  
  
Her heart, already straining to pump as much adrenaline into her system as possible, skipped a beat when the cool granite of the bench vanished beneath her. Everything was moonlight and stars and royal silks and warm nearness and warmer laughter and Robin’s arms windmilled of their own accord and found purchase around Chrom’s shoulders, shrieking wordless protest as she was pulled onto his lap in a fierce embrace. Mashed as she was into his collarbone, Robin grappled with simultaneous affront and delight at the sudden displacement.  
  
“Here I am, pouring my heart out to you and you have the nerve to _laugh_ at me,” Robin accused impishly, settling comfortably against his chest. “How cruel!”  
  
“ _I’m_ the cruel one? After your ‘I’m leaving forever’ bait-and-switch?” Chrom chuckled, his voice lighter than it had been in weeks. Robin laughed ruefully, planting an apologetic kiss at his throat. She felt a shudder run down his spine, and his arms encircled her even more tightly.  
  
“Forgive me, had I been of finer moral character I may have been strong enough to leave,” she joked a little sadly. “It looks like you’re stuck with me for the time being.”  
  
Chrom drew back, unwinding his arms so that he could tilt her face to his. No longer laughing, his eyes were dark as the night sky and twice as deep, filled with an unrestrained affection that halted Robin’s breath.   
  
“As glad as I am to hear that you think you’ve made a decision in your best interest and not mine, you’re wrong,” he vowed. “And I won’t ever stop trying to convince you otherwise.”  
  
He sealed his promise with a kiss, lingering and gentle, on her brow. Robin’s chewed at a foolish grin that threatened to overtake her face, resisting the urge to argue her point further.  
  
“Fine. We’ll take it day by day, then. Together.”  
  
The affection long-threatening to boil over within Robin’s chest finally overcame her and she expressed it every way she could. Each caress of his cheek, every breath shared between their intertwining lips, each murmur of his name sang with intent unrestrained and love finally, freely given.  
  
Two guards posted nearby at the courtyard entryway cleared their throats and airily discussed the weather, pointedly averting their eyes from the tableau unfolding before them. Robin distantly thanked the gods for the guards’ discretion and discipline before relinquishing her senses to the night, the future, and the heady warmth that filled her chest drowned out all else.


End file.
